


No Pedestals Are Quite This High

by ivyspinners



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Background Femslash, Background Het, Character Study, F/F, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:22:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyspinners/pseuds/ivyspinners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the four fabulous ladies are mirrors for each other and there may or may not be subtextual femmslash. They all do what they have to. Caroline's POV. Spoilers through 3x22</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Pedestals Are Quite This High

**Author's Note:**

> For the [ladyloves comment-a-thon](http://dollsome.livejournal.com/1794393.html%22), and the prompt ["Like looking in a mirror"](http://dollsome.livejournal.com/1794393.html?thread=14538841#t14538841).

Caroline loved Elena. She did. That didn't make her blind to Elena's faults, and blindness, well, that was one of those faults.

"Elena's everyone's first choice," she had said to Bonnie, one unassuming afternoon, when Stefan Salvatore rolled into town and brought chaos with him. She had meant it. Elena didn't know what she had.

Elena was loved. She was loved so deeply, Caroline would have found it stiffling and unenviable, if only she hadn't constantly felt second-best, like the one standing in the dust. The one with a mother always too busy to spend time with Caroline.

(And yes, she _knew_ that it was a cruel thing to think now that Miranda only lived on through photographs and memories. She had many faults, but she would make sure that _Miranda_ never passed her lips.)

Elena was everyone's first choice, and she wasn't even self-aware enough to appreciate it.

Everyone wanted to die for Elena, and it wasn't until Elena stepped into the otherwise deserted classroom, the heartbreak on her face at the sight of Alaric morphing to panic when she when she saw the faintly smoking wounds on the corners of Caroline's mouth, did Caroline understand the burden it really was.

'When did I become like you?' she wondered. There was no easy answer.

 

But pause: rewind.

Elena's lips were crimson like blood, her step into Caroline's living room was more like a prowl, and her familiar face was so sad beneath the mask of her smile, Caroline would have marched up and given her a hug, if Elena's smile did not abruptly rise into a smirk. Caroline's pulse would have raced, if she still had one. It wasn't Elena after all.

It was... _her_. It was the vampire who had smothered her with her own pillow until she felt like her lungs would explode, and then more, and hadn't even done it because of _Caroline_ , but because she was the necessary implement to hurt Elena.

But Caroline was a vampire now. And she could _run_.

She was across the room and almost through the doorway in half a second.

And stumbled backwards the next instant because there hadn't been a hint of movement, not the faintest sound, yet suddenly Katherine was before her, blocking the exit. Caroline swallowed hard, her newfound confidence draining away like water down a sink.

Katherine shoved her onto the ground, then gripped her arms with hands like stone -- stronger than stone -- to stop Caroline's mad, futile scramble away. She crouched over Caroline, so close, Caroline could feel Katherine's breath grazing against her cheek, and it was warmer than she'd expected.

Her eyes focused (so much faster now, sight so much sharper), and the thought was inevitable: How had she ever thought Katherine and Elena looked the same? Elena was her friend. Katherine had stabbed everyone in the back because she could, and then done it again out of spite. Katherine and Elena were nothing alike.

Nothing at all.

"Just a few hours with Stefan," Katherine crooned, hair tickling Caroline's nose. That was all she wanted. Caroline and Elena could play house for all she cared, as long as she kept Elena away. (How was it that those _words_ hurt more than Katherine's nails digging into her arms?) Maybe Stefan could join them when they were done.

All this, just to get Stefan alone. Caroline wanted to turn her face away, to hide the fury and fear she felt when she agreed. Panic welled up (oh god oh god, what was she going to do?) but she bit back the words.

She watched Katherine sauntering away, watched her glance disinterestedly at the photos on Caroline's shelves, and the answer was painful, but simple: she would do what she had to, or Katherine would kill her.

 

She never held any illusions about Rebekah. Rebekah was such a snob. She looked down her nose at Caroline, though, hello, it wasn't Caroline who slept with everyone who so much glanced her way. And Caroline had overcome her loneliness long ago. That was what you did, when you had a problem: you trooped on, and you got over it.

(But still, she felt a moment of sympathy when she thought of Elena standing over Rebekah's body, shrivelled and as close to death as an Original could get, a dagger in her back. She didn't blame, Elena, of course. She couldn't even say she was surprised, because she remembered a night spent with Tyler, his lips so hot against the coolness of her body, and he'd admitted that he'd helped try to kill Elena once. It had ended with Elena's plunging her knife into her attacker's shoulder, and, later, Elena and Stefan embracing only a few feet away from the werewolf's heartless body. No, Caroline was not surprised.

Tyler had not asked for her forgiveness or sympathy, though he had them. Caroline was coming to know that they all did what they had to. Elena had done what she had to, and if she could look in a mirror afterwards and still see herself, then Caroline could accept her too.)

It was funny that they ended up doing everything together, all the same. Somehow, Rebekah had wormed her way into the dance committee, and Caroline couldn't dislodge her. Caroline absolutely _hated_ the sneer on Rebekah's lips whenever she turned up to help, so she clenched her fists and turned away. And no, that was not her clipboard cracking beneath her fingers, she had far too much control for that.

They ignored each other, resolute, when they were forced together. Sometimes, when Caroline was stomping over to another ~~drafted worker~~ helping classmate, she could feel Rebekah's eyes burning down her back, but she refused to turn around. She took her time, smiling at Matt when he walked past (with a raised eyebrow directed Rebekah's way, nudging another classmate because he was sticking lamps in the wrong corner. (Had anyone _listened_ when she gave them the instructions?) Rebekah could stew all she wanted, Caroline didn't _care_ that she was letting Rebekah do the work. Rebekah had signed on for it.

Her mother arrived for a brief visit, murmuring about checking up on how she was, but also mentioning that it was part of the job. Caroline could see, in the corner of her eye, the look Rebekah sent their way, and she placed herself firmly in between Liz and the other vampire in case something happened. As Liz gave her a brief smile, and left, Caroline held herself ready to prevent any unfortunate... accidents... but Rebekah didn't make a move.

She simply said, when they were about to leave, "Your mother seems nice. She cares about you."

Caroline didn't like the look in Rebekah's eyes. The _envy_.

 

"You're spending the afternoon with _me_?" Rebekah said, incredulous, weeks after they'd fished Elena out of the river below Wickery Bridge.

Caroline shrugged, sitting down next to her. "Every friendship starts somewhere." _No friendships are perfect._ And somehow, Rebekah was the only one who _understood_.

She wondered briefly when Elena's and Katherine's friendship had started, and when it had progressed enough that Elena was taking lessons from her. She supposed it didn't matter in the end.

She had seen them, and for a moment, Caroline hadn't been able to tell them apart.

She almost wished she felt surprised, but she didn't.

 

Because Elena had been her first choice too. They had been sixteen and Caroline newly raised to chair of the dance committee -- which really meant she could now press-gang her classmates into decorating the gym, but still ended up doing half the work herself -- and Elena had broken down, agreeing to let Caroline show her the afternoon's work. She had only meant to point out how she'd placed Seven Minutes in Heaven around the corner, so that all the noise from the dance was muted, but there hadn't been much space after all. She could smell Elena's lily perfume, completely out of period, could touch the weight of Elena's hair, and she had not-really-but-sort-of-meant-to kissed Elena.

And when their lips touched, she'd known, it hadn't mattered where she put Seven Minutes in Heaven, because every sound faded away except Elena's breathing.

Caroline would say, later, that she had been drunk. Elena would say nothing.

(Elena would touch her own lips, when she was alone that night, and smile just a little, but Caroline didn't know that. Elena would never tell Matt that Caroline, not him, had been her first kiss. She would let everyone think what they wanted, because Elena didn't dare peel back the layers of herself and expose all her faults to the world: even when they piled up on her shoulders, one by one, people dying around her. So eager, in their ruthless love, to put her first and save her.)

 

For maybe the first time, Rebekah looked unsure. Rebekah was a thousand years old, but she had never felt like it. And Rebekah said, slowly, "I wouldn't know. I haven't made a friend in one thousand years."

"Maybe it's time to start," Caroline said. "So. Theme for our next dance. Roman or Greek?"


End file.
